


In which John has a nightmare

by Blackpearl



Series: Scenes from a Stake-Out [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 17:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackpearl/pseuds/Blackpearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John, Lestrade and other members of the police force are on a stake-out in a house together. What happens when the others find out about Sherlock and John's relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which John has a nightmare

Lestrade woke up to the sound of shouting and groaned quietly. Not again, he thought to himself, pulling the duvet up over his head in an attempt to drown out the noise. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. It took him worryingly longer than usual to realise that the shouts he was hearing were not of those one would usually make in the throes of passion. Instead, they sounded pained, even agonised. He sat bolt upright, brain now working in overdrive; the noises were definitely coming from Sherlock and John’s room, they definitely weren’t noises of pleasure…What the hell was happening? 

Lestrade scrambled to his feet and flung open the door, stumbling out of his room into the darkness of the hallway and then barging into Sherlock and John’s room to see what all the commotion was. He was met with a sight that he had never expected to see. Sherlock and John’s bed was an absolute mess; the pillows and duvet were practically on the floor, and the sheets were bunched up in the centre, tangled up with what looked like three socks, a t-shirt, and Sherlock’s blue dressing gown. John was lying in the middle of the bed facing away from the door, his bare back gleaming with beads of sweat, and a string of distressed shouts spilling out of his mouth. Greg’s gaze was momentarily drawn to the star-shaped cluster of knotted scar tissue on John’s shoulder, but then was distracted by the image of Sherlock kneeling over him, desperately shaking him.

Sherlock looked up and said, “Lestrade,” before his attention was captivated by another shout from his lover.

“What’s-?” Lestrade began, but Sherlock cut him off. 

“PTSD. He gets nightmares, flashbacks sometimes.” Sherlock drew back from John as he began to writhe around, and Lestrade was immensely grateful that they were both half-dressed. “I can’t get him to wake up,” Sherlock said, and Lestrade pretended not to notice the way his voice trembled. But then Sherlock looked up again and his normal unwavering, ice-cold stare was replaced with a look of pure anguish and Lestrade felt his chest begin to ache. 

Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but John jolted awake with a gasp, his breathing harsh and ragged. 

“John?” Sherlock asked tentatively, his voice low, quiet and heartbreakingly soft. 

“Jesus,” John groaned as the room and Sherlock and Lestrade’s anxious faces came swimming into focus. He forced himself to sit up, his head throbbing and shoulder aching. He was dimly aware of Sherlock wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly before he felt himself crumble and his body was wracked with sobs. 

Sherlock met Lestrade’s gaze again, agony in his eyes and an uncharacteristic dampness on his cheeks. It was in that moment that Lestrade realised that Sherlock was absolutely and completely hopelessly in love with John. Once again, he opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Donovan knocking on the still-open door and entering. 

“Not now, Sally,” Lestrade said. 

“I brought him water,” Donovan replied, holding a glass out for Sherlock, who took it and murmured a grateful ‘thank you’. Donovan nodded and said, “Make sure he drinks it,” before taking her leave. 

Lestrade heard her talking quietly with Anderson outside the room and shut the bedroom door. 

“John, here, have some water,” Sherlock said, gently tipping John’s head back and helping him take a couple of sips. Slowly, John began to calm down and his sobs subsided until he was breathing deeply, his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“Are you okay, mate?” Lestrade asked cautiously. 

John gulped and nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked out. “Sorry I woke you.” 

Lestrade padded softly over to the edge of the bed and rested a hand on John’s good shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you both in the morning.” With that, he left them, closing the door with a quiet click. 

Once he had left, Sherlock laid John back down in the bed and pulled the duvet up over him. 

“Sher-” John began, but Sherlock pressed his fingers over John’s lips. 

“Ssh, close your eyes.” He lay down beside him, curling his body around John’s shorter one. “Go back to sleep. I’m right here.” His head rested on the nape of John’s neck while one hand ran up and down his side. Eventually, John’s eyes fluttered closed, and he drifted back to sleep with the warm, solid weight of Sherlock behind him.


End file.
